The dormitory was nothing like the Cemetery.
It took Mateo nearly an hour to reach it after leaving Eliza's office—down the elevator, through dim corridors, and winding halls that felt more like a maze than a school. When he finally found the male dormitory, it was eerily quiet.
Mateo had imagined a bustling space filled with energy, layered floors divided by years like the schools before the wars. But the first three dorm levels were silent and lifeless. Only the fourth level, for Year 1s, held any trace of habitation.
Had the others already been sent to the war?
He reached his assigned room and held the keycard Eliza had given him to the sensor. The door slid open with a soft chime. Mateo stood in the doorway, gripping the strap of his backpack like a lifeline. The room was small but sterile—one of six beds, arranged in two triple bunks against the far wall. A desk, a closet, and a large window that opened to a cloudy sky. No rust. No peeling paint. No mildew. Just clean white walls and the subtle thrum of energy shields embedded in the ceiling.
He dropped his bag onto the bed closest to the door. Alec's horn clattered to the floor, slipping from the half-zipped pocket. Mateo picked it up, thumb brushing the curve. Two years of anxious fidgeting had polished it smooth.
"How could you waste all of your potential?"
Eliza's voice echoed in his mind, bitter and sharp like blood in the mouth. But what did she know? She may have clawed her way up as a quirkless woman, but she still had her family's name—her legacy—to give her a head start. She hadn't needed to turn her body into a weapon just to be seen.
She was wrong.
He hadn't wasted anything. He'd fought every day since the explosion, scraping forward with bruised knuckles and shattered resolve. But she'd looked straight through him, peeled back the armor, and seen the rot underneath.
If he considered Eliza's wealth her advantage, wasn't the quirk he resented just another edge he was denying himself?
A knock came at the door—quick, then the door swung open without waiting for an answer. Just habit. Whoever it was hadn't expected permission.
A pale, wiry boy stepped in. The same one who'd shown off an elbow gun and wrist blade earlier. His backpack looked heavier than Mateo's, crammed full. Mateo remembered the name Ben had called during the match.
Henrik.
His clothes were worn, not crisp and new like Alex or Ben's. His ribs pressed against the fabric of a jacket that hung too big on his gaunt frame. His eyes widened as he recognized Mateo.
"You lost. What are you doing here?"
Mateo lifted the red keycard Eliza had handed him. "Probation," he said.
Henrik scoffed and dropped his bag at the foot of a bunk. "They're really scraping the bottom of the barrel."
Mateo had a retort loaded but didn't fire it. Too tired. All he wanted was to collapse into a bed.
Another voice came from the door.
"Don't say that, Henrik. That's your name, right?"
A tall, lean figure stepped into view. Blond hair almost gold in the sterile light. His shirt was spotless, white as snow, tucked into black pants without a single crease. He looked untouched, which made Mateo uneasy. Anyone here had fought to get in—so how had this guy done it without even getting dirty?
Mateo vaguely remembered him from earlier in the queues.
The man continued, "Even if Mateo got beat, the Atlas woman said they're assessing quirk potential—not just combat scores."
He looked Mateo dead in the eye. "Also, your name's going around. Slime Boy. That's what they're calling you. Figured you should know. A lot of people are surprised you made it."
Mateo sighed. Again. He was doing that a lot lately.
Not only would he be forced to train with a power he barely understood—one he despised—he'd be mocked the entire time.
"Great," he muttered. "Just what I needed."
Henrik snorted. "You're either a living weapon or a human shield," he said, no doubt referencing Ben and his invulnerability. "If you can't be any of that, just get our of this place. Then: "Which bunk are you taking? I need sleep."
Mateo sat on the lower bunk and pointed. "This one."
Just as he turned to lie down, a crackling buzz startled him. The other two boys reacted instinctively. Henrik raised his elbow, the barrel of his internal weapon clicking into place. The intercom—blending almost perfectly into the wall—lit up.
"All trainees report to Training Bay Alpha in ten minutes. Latecomers will be scrubbed from the program."
Henrik blinked. "The hell?" He retracted the weapon.
The blond guy sighed. "Expected. Word is the training period's gone from four years to one. But they were wrong. It's one month now."
Mateo's stomach dropped. Eliza had said the same. But hearing it again made it real. Would he really be sent into a warzone in a month? To destroy the monsters who'd taken everything from him? He didn't care about their reasons. He only cared that they paid. He'd make sure of it.
The remaining three that weren't here hadn't even found their dorm yet. No rest. No pause. Just go.
The sky outside the window had darkened. A half-moon floated high above the clouds. It had to be close to 8 p.m.
"Well then," Mateo said, standing, "what are we waiting for?"
They reached Training Bay Alpha with seconds to spare, breathless after three wrong turns and frantic backtracking. Fortunately, they weren't the only ones cutting it close.
The space was massive—cavernous walls lined with weapon racks and hologram emitters.
The trainees were already assembling. A red square labeled "B" marked the floor. Ben stood there with two unfamiliar guys. Across from them on another red square labeled "A," six girls stood at attention.
At least Brett wasn't among them. Maybe he'd lost. Maybe Eliza hadn't had mercy on him like she had on Mateo.
The trio joined the others, forming a two-by-six grid.
Commander Reeves stood on a floating platform overhead, voice amplified through the intercoms.
"Welcome to your first lesson," she said, eyes sharp. "Survival."
"They really don't waste time, huh?" Ben chuckled. No fear in his voice. No hesitation. Mateo supposed that came with invulnerability. If nothing could hurt you, what was there to be afraid of?
The floor trembled. Metal panels groaned open, reshaping the space. The sterile chamber morphed into a charred battlefield—walls became jagged ruins, the ceiling darkened to a smoke-choked sky. Even the air changed, thick with the acrid stench of burning flesh.
"Your quirks are weapons," Reeves continued. "But weapons are useless without instinct. Today, you learn to stop thinking."
Mateo watched Alex smile—a feral, electric thing. She was already humming with anticipation.
The air shimmered. Drones descended in waves, sleek machines with razor-edged wings, red eyes gleaming.
Ben and Henrik snapped into position. The blond guy Mateo still didn't know the name of drew a long blade from beneath his shirt. A hidden sheath? Was that part of his quirk?
Before the drones even closed in, Alex flexed her fingers and the first wave scattered like leaves in wind.
But there were more.
"A villain capable of remote laser fire has been identified," Reeves called out, her platform rising. "Imagine you're facing that villain. Your objective is not destruction—it's escape. Preferably unharmed. This is a race. Win."